Let It Be
by teddylupin-snape
Summary: In which Percy just needs to let loose and learn to love. Set during DH, Perciver. Slightly AU.


**A.N: Slightly AU in some parts. Perciver.**

**Written for: 2013 Summer Fanfiction Olympics Competition: Swimming (prompts used- mandatory: write about water; optional: never, tide, Percy Weasley, salt, circle) If You Dare Challenge (Prompt #504 - Rain)**

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i. the rain will wash it away

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It's raining now, Perce. You know how much you've always hated the rain, with its constant pitter-patter on your windowpane. This time, however, you welcome the shower. You run out your door, all self-consciousness left behind. You pull your hood down, throw your arms wide, and let the ice-cold droplets rinse your body clean. _Maybe the water will cleanse you. Maybe the water will make you clean, make you whole again._ You stand there, dripping wet and crying over everything you've lost, everything you've held in your grip for so long, only for it to be torn away from you—your family, your job, your future. It's all gone, and all you have left is remorse, regret, sorrow. You let the rain drown away all your problems and issues. No one is there to see you now, no one to see your tears, your shame. Oliver is at Quidditch practice still. You can completely let loose, release all your inhibitions, and no one will be the wiser. Cold and drenched from the downpour, your knees buckle and you sink down, sitting on the cold, muddy ground. Your robes billow around your slumped form, heavy from the water. Your glasses are so heavily splattered with raindrops, you can see nothing but blurry spots of green and brown**. **You lay your head down on the soft grass for a moment, listening to the birds calling out over the hillside. You don't control it when your eyes flutter closed and you leave this wet world for one that can only be found inside your dreams.

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ii. never say never

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'Perce, get up! Come on, wake up, Percy!'

You hear a faint voice calling your name. _Oliver_, you realize, jolting awake. 'Oli?' you ask feebly. 'What's going on?' He is carrying you inside your little cottage, your head resting against his chest.

'I came home from Quidditch to find you lying in the back garden. You're soaked. What were you doing out there in the first place?'

'I—I don't know. The rain… You know I don't care for rain, but… I felt _something_, I just went outside. And I guess I fell asleep or something, I dunno,' you murmur softly into his chest. 'How long've you been home, Ol?' you question him.

'Not more than a few minutes. I was going to put a kettle of tea on and saw you from out the window just lying there. I was scared, Perce.'

You hear the fear and pain in Oliver's voice. It makes you hurt, deep inside. You realize that _you _were hurting Oliver. You never wanted to cause him any harm, never wanted him to feel hurt or pain because of you and your stupidity. Despite your marks, you always were a stupid boy, but Oliver had known you throughout all of your Hogwarts years, and he still stuck by your side to this day. Without him with you, you'd be alone. Without him, you'd have no way of providing shelter and food for yourself, not without a job. Ever since You-Know-Who took over the Ministry, you've been a mess. You know right from wrong; you couldn't stand to work under _him_, but leaving the Ministry was one of the toughest decisions of your life. It meant no way for you to provide for yourself or for Oliver. You feel guilty because you're living with him, without paying for rent or food or anything else that you need. All you can be for Oliver is a companion, and he always claimed that a companion was all he needed. He plays professional Quidditch, he had plenty of money. _Excuses,_ you tell yourself.

'I'm sorry, Ol. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just—I just wanted to feel the rain, you know? I just feel so guilty about everything. I mean, you have to pay for all the rent, the food, everything. And then there's my family; I don't even know if they would accept me back if I wanted them to. I do want them to, really. I just… I'm not as strong as you are, Oli,' you finish weakly.

'Why don't you just lie down and I'll make you some tea. You could use it to warm up, you're freezing.'

He placed you down gently on the sofa, shuffling to the kitchen to make a cuppa for you. You wait patiently, sighing as you realize that he's doing yet _another_ thing for you that you aren't helping with. You never wanted to put Oliver through all this, but look at you now. He's practically your servant. No matter how often you try to talk yourself out of these thoughts, saying that once you get on your feet, you'll cater to him for double the time he's helped you. All these aspirations fall on flat, jobless ground.

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iii. just a little salt in the wounds

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Oliver comes back into the sitting room with two teacups, and he hands you one. 'Thanks,' you mutter.

'So are you going to enlighten my on why the _bloody_ _hell_ you decided to wander outside in the middle of a rainstorm?' Oliver asks sternly.

'I—I thought the rain would be cleansing. I thought it would be able to take away all this guilt, remorse, all this regret. I just figured that it would wash away all of my past, everything that I never want to relive,' you whisper before taking a sip of tea, savouring the way it scalds your throat as it goes down.

'Perce, why would you want all of your past just _gone_?' Oliver asks in confusion.

'It'd just make everything a whole lot easier,' you state frankly.

'Listen, Perce. You're way too hard on yourself,' Oliver tries to convince you.

You continue on, as though you didn't hear him, 'But it seems that the rain was just like sprinkling salt in those always bleeding wounds. You can't control it and you can't make it hurt any less. All there is to do is wait and let it burn. You'd think it would help, that the cold and the rain would take your mind off things, wouldn't you.' You're not talking to Oliver anymore, but more to yourself. 'It just makes them even bolder, ever more present.' You sigh and lie back down on the sofa, head nestled in the cushions.

'Perce, why don't you just rest? You need some sleep,' Oliver says calmly.

'M'kay, goodnight Oliver,' you whisper.

'Night, Percy.'

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iv. just the gentle ebb and flow

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There's a thin line between dreams and reality, you soon realize. All this time, you've simply been deluding yourself. You've been pretending that the war's not going on, so you can try to live at peace. You've been kidding yourself into thinking that you're still on good terms with your family, and that you can just waltz right into the Burrow anytime and be welcomed back like the prodigal son you wish you were. You try to believe that you're just on a well-needed vacation from work, as opposed to having quit to avoid working under tyranny.

The rising tide, the rising action, the oncoming war fast approaches. You have to build up strength in your walls if you want a chance of surviving—both physically and emotionally. You've heard tales of old war heroes who've gone mad with loss from war; you don't think you'd be able to cope if something were to come down upon you and crush the sliver of hope you still have left.

But tides rise and tides fall. One moment, you're being pulled head-first in a million different directions; the next, you've got time on your hands and far too many thoughts bouncing around in your mind. Sometimes, you think you'd prefer the former option. You'd rather have somewhere to focus your thoughts as opposed to having them free, being able to pick up a subject at will and let your mind brew on it until you're driven mad with hate—for the situation, towards yourself.

And you can't handle it on your own. There have been a couple occasions where Oliver is waken by your thrashing about and screaming in the middle of the night. He says he understands (even though you know it's impossible for anyone to understand) and he whispers words of consolation in your ear, gently patting your back until you fall asleep again.

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v. cycles can be broken

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You feel stuck in the cycle. Anger leads to hurt which leads to remorse which leads to even more anger. You can't escape and you can't make it any easier on yourself. It never ends, and you find yourself clawing at the walls trying to find some way out. The circle just keeps on going. You are upset, so Oliver takes care of you. You realize how much he does for you without expecting anything in return, and you hate yourself for putting him through this. You want to make it up to him, but there's no way for you to help him with something that he's perfectly fine dealing with on his own.

Sometimes you think you care a bit too much. But there's caring and caring too much and there's love and you're not sure which one you truly feel towards Oliver.

You're scared to love him because you don't want to hurt him anymore. But you can't simply 'care too much' because care alone isn't enough to make it up to him. He needs more; he deserves more. He's your Oliver and you're his Percy. There's no denying this, and you realize that without him by your side, you're nothing. You just assume that having him by your side can benefit the both of you. You can't bear to hurt him.

_Just act ignorant, pretend you can't see the hurt in his eyes_. But there is no hurt in _his _eyes, is there Percy? No, the hate's in your own eyes, you're just seeing reflections. There are two ways of spreading love, Percy. To be the one who loves, or the one who is loved.

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vi. finales aren't always the end

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You come to realize, _finally_, you tell yourself, that you're _in love_ with Oliver Wood.

The only thing left to worry about is how are you, Percy Weasley, going to let yourself love him?

You know that love is a strong word, emotion, feeling. But you do, you love Oliver Wood.

It's not like you can hide that fact. He loves you too. You know it.

Finales aren't always necessarily the end. They can just as easily be the beginning. Only if you let it be.


End file.
